Porcelain Skin and A Flower Tattoo
by loveandbellarke
Summary: A simple one night stand is all it is, but for some reason, Killian can't seem to shake the hold the blonde haired, green eyed bar wench has on him. {verse; wench!Emma and pirate!Killian}


_**Porcelain Skin and A Flower Tattoo**_

* * *

**a/n: Here's a short-ish cutesy-cs fic written in wench!emma verse becasue i really love wench!emma and pirate!killian**

**This was written for the first week of the CS Hiatus Meme, and the theme was 'no color'.**

**{note; the fic doesn't really tie into the 'no color' theme, but the graphic goes with the fic so yeah}**

* * *

He remembers her vividly, remembers the tattoo on her wrist the most, knows that next time that he goes to port in the small town where she was, he'll be looking for the blonde bar wench with the small flower inked on her skin. Knows then and there that there won't be another woman until he can find the green eyed beauty that didn't bother to even tell him her name.

Even so, she seemed to know exactly who he was, flirtatiously caressing his hook as she flashed her green orbs at him and asked for the real story of how he ended up one handed. He told her, the half of it he felt comfortable telling a beautiful stranger, that a dark and evil man sliced it off in anger. He left out the part about Milah. She didn't need to know the details of how the blasted crocodile ripped out his last real lover's heart and crushed it in front of him. His heartache was for him, not anyone else, and he didn't intend on sharing it when the night was going so well.

He remembers taking her back to his ship, promising a nightcap to the lovely lady, her lips the sweet taste of rum and honey. Remembers hat her corset took much too long to take off as he worked at the shoelace string with hand and hook as he let his lips trail open-mouthed kisses against her collarbone.

He remembers waking up the next morning satisfied, turning over to face the blonde vixen that lay beside him through the night, only to find an empty space, her clothes that were strewn haphazardly on the ground gone. He feels a pang in his stomach at the fact that he wanted so very much to wake up beside her that morning and wishes that she hadn't left.

* * *

Two months later, the same thing happens, but this time, he catches her name.

Emma.

* * *

It's been a month and a half since they last docked in the small town where the bar wench he had taken a particular fondness to lived. The one who went by the sugar sweet name of Emma. The name that he could not shake from his lips, no matter how hard he tried.

He walks off his ship with confidence, the smell of the sea dissipating from the air as he distances himself from the coastline, finding the bar where he had found her the last two times with ease. He remembers the walks to and from the small tavern far too well.

He doesn't see her at first, his eyes scanning the small room littered with people, crazy and restless as drinks spill from glasses, small and large, until his eyes land on a signaling porcelain hand, the only thing making the image more perfect; the oh-so-familiar flower drawn on the wrist in permanent black ink.

He makes his way over to her and she doesn't notice him immediately, too caught up in the men at her side, not nearly as attractive as him, he silently thinks to himself, and clears his throat. "I see you've already forgotten about me, haven't you, lass?"

His lips are afire with a devilish smirk as her jaw drops open, mouth agape as her green eyes drill into his blue ones. "Hook…" she says, her words a soft, breathless whisper. If it weren't for the people milling among the tavern, he would have taken her then and there.

"Aye love," he replied, walking up to the table, leaning over so she could take in his half undone vest and suggestive body language, "It's me. Now what do you say we start where we left off? But this time, you don't run off?"

"Well aren't you subtle?" she retorts, her smile suggesting that maybe she would do just that. "And persistent. What is this, the third time you found me?"

"Possibly," he says, not wanting to let on that he knew it was very much the third time, that he had been counting the days until he saw her again, "Then again, I am quite skilled at finding things, a pirate and all."

"Well, Pirate," Emma whispers, swiping her tongue across her lips, leaving them parted ever so slightly, "I'd love to see these skills in person. Why don't you find me a bottle of rum and then we can go and find your ship?"

The suggestive tone in her voice overwhelms him as he reaches across the table to take her hand ever so carefully in his, pulling her up and leading her to the opposite side of the table where he stood. "I think that's a bargain I can make."

* * *

After finding his princess a bottle of rum, the two head back to the Jolly Roger, passing the bottle between themselves, laughing as they slowly drain the rum, Hook tossing it into the ocean once it was empty. It didn't take them long to make their way down the ladder that led to the captain's quarters, and before the pair knew it, clothes were coming off, aggressive kisses planted on any bare skin that could be touched, fingers fisting in each other's hair.

And when Hook woke up the next morning, the first thing he saw was the corset that had landed on the ground in front of him in the middle of the night, before twisting around to see the sleeping beauty beside him, letting himself sigh in contentment before she began to stir, eyelashes fluttering as he saw her green eyes.

"Morning love," he whispers, "I'm glad you decided to stick around."

"So am I, Captain," she says, smiling through her words, nuzzling her head into the crook of his neck, placing her hand on his bared chest. "So am I."

* * *

It's not hard for him to say yes when she asks if she can spend another night aboard his ship, his answer rolling off his tongue much too eagerly. It earns him a sly smirk and a kiss.

One more night quickly turns to two.

Two to three.

And all of a sudden they're leaving port and she has not yet parted ways with him, instead standing on the deck of the ship, watching as the buildings fade into the horizon as they distance themselves from the shoreline, her blonde locks flying behind her in the wind.

After commanding Smee to man the ship's wheel, he makes his way over to her, placing his hands gently on her waist. "Just say the word, princess," he whispers in her ear, seeing her smile at his newfound term of endearment for her, "and I'll take you home." He hears a soft giggle escape her lips.

"Home? This wasn't my home, not by a long shot. I've never had a real home," she replies, pressing her back into his chest gently as the hands on her waist pull her in closer.

"Well, we might just have to fix that, won't we?" he suggests, barely finishing his sentence before her lips are interlocking with his.

"I think I already have."


End file.
